


The Sixth-Last Time

by thebaddestwolf



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:08:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1210435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebaddestwolf/pseuds/thebaddestwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grumpy David runs into Billie at a stuffy corporate event. There is flirting, there is a scuffle, there is a tiff, there is touching. You know the drill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sixth-Last Time

His publicist will pay for forcing him to attend an event like this, some corporate industry party where his only purpose is to press the flesh with other industry moguls, all for the sake of feigning comradery with big-shots in the business. It had been billed as a fun night out, and maybe it would have been, if he hadn't gotten in a row with Georgia earlier that day, if she hadn't acquired a sudden migraine and decided to stay home. His cheeks ache from an hour of forced smiles and, fuck it, one more lap around the room and he's leaving.  
  
He's ordering his third vodka tonic when he sees her.  
  
It's her hair he notices first, dark at the roots gradating lighter until it's the shade of blonde she was when he met her. She's nodding vigorously at a bald man in a suit -- some entertainment big wig, no doubt -- and by tightness in her face he can tell she gives as much of a shit about all of this as he does. He wonders who twisted her arm into coming and if he could get their address to send a formal thank you letter. If anyone could save his ruined disaster of a night, it's Billie Piper.  
  


David hasn't seen her since their fifth-last time, their ultimate last time apparently, eight months ago when he had pulled her dress up and fucked her against a nightstand in a guest bedroom at a mutual friend's party. Their fourth-last time was in a hotel, the third in a limo, the second in her flat in Cardiff, and the first in his trailer on set.

Their first-last time was also their first time full-stop; they hadn't ever slept together and not vowed to never do it again. The trouble was, despite their ever-growing list of reasons why they shouldn't, it was a promise they were never able to keep.

Finally she looks up and sees him there, leaning against the bar, and he watches her make her apologies and start toward him, eyebrows arching as her lips form a smirk. She looks so sodding good in a tight black skirt and a sheer flowing top, heels so high he thinks she practically defies the law of physics the way she glides in them so effortlessly. He notes with trepidation that his cock twitches awake beneath his trousers.

"So you got suckered into this too, then?" she stage whispers, holding a hand beside her mouth to pass the secret though there is still several feet between them. He rolls his eyes and takes a long pull of his drink in response and she stands on her toes to kiss his cheek before sidling up against the bar.

Licking her thumb, she reaches up and wipes the smear of lipstick off his face. It takes more effort than he'd admit to restrain from turning his head and capturing her finger between his teeth.

"Should've known you'd be here Bills, never could stay away from rich old men in suits," he chides, motioning to get the bartender's attention.

"I wouldn't joke, not before too long you'll be considered part of that demographic." she grins, that bloody tongue poking out from between her teeth. "Is that... is that a gray hair?" she taunts, gesturing toward his head, and before he can bat her hand away she's running it through his hair, making it stand on end.

He shakes his head at her, smiling, attempting to pat down the disheveled mess she just made when the bartender appears. He orders her a gin and soda with three limes, not bothering to ask if that's what she wants because it always is. The drink arrives and they clink glasses and he stops himself from saying "to us."

"Is Laurence..." he starts, instead, a question he never intended on finishing. She shakes her head.

"He's got a rehearsal. Georgia?"

"Headache."

"Right."

Neither of them want to bother with more pleasantries about the others spouse and he's glad because he already feels guilty about talking to her, about realizing the her skirt is the same shade as the leather seat she straddled him on in the limo during the third-last time. His cock twitches again.

He opens his mouth to say something inane, anything to break the multitude of sins stretching out the silence, when a woman approaches and grabs Billie's arm, saying that she absolutely  _must_  meet someone and she's being tugged across the room, frowning by way of apology.

***

Thirty minutes later and he doesn't see her anywhere, he's even done a lap around the hotel lobby just to be sure she didn't step out to take a phone call. He's debating whether he should text her or just leave, write it off as a sign, when he hears her bubbly laugh coming from behind him. She's surrounded by five or six men in suits, of course she is, the only flame in a room full of moths.

He moves closer, so he can steal her away when he hears the conversation winding down. Steal her away for what is something he's still working out, as what he  _wants_  and what he  _should_  steal her away for are on completely opposite ends of every moral spectrum.

His mind floats back to the fourth-last time, at a hotel on the Embankment, the only time they had actually planned it. The premeditation was almost as intoxicating as the actual night together, all hushed phone calls and quickly deleted texts, paying for the room in cash, playing it off to the desk workers like he just walked around with 400 quid in his wallet.

He could tell she got off on it too, the breathy sound to her voice on the phone, every text message ending in an "x." He'd bet his life she was wet before they'd even walked through the door.

Lost in thought, he registers one of the men in the group saying something rude. He doesn't even remember what, but it was  _rude_  and said in a rude  _tone_  and said to  _her_  and the next thing he knows his forearm is across the man's chest, shoving him away from her. There are a few gasps from the crowd and the man apologizes, straightening his suit, and David's vaguely aware that he caused a scene.

When he turns to find her she's not there. He scans the room and finally his eyes spot her, striding out of the function hall toward the lobby. He jogs to catch up with her, ignoring the following eyes, the pointing fingers, and reaches her just as she's walking out of the hotel.

Adrenaline is still surging through him as he grabs her arm but she yanks it away, heels clicking on the South Kensington pavement as she continues to walk away from him.

"Rushing to catch a bus?" he calls after her because he can't help it, because he wants a reaction. It works and she turns on him.

"You had no fucking right to do that."

"I couldn't let some bastard talk to you like that."

"I'm not yours to defend."

"I know."

He does know, at least logically speaking, that maybe, technically, it was not his place to commit such a public act of possession. But he also knows he will always defend her, regardless of the implications, because she so rarely gets as good as she deserves.

David pulls her to him and is surprised that she doesn't fight it, a little disappointed even. He wants to feel her struggling against him, he wants to fight to keep her. She nuzzles her chin into his collar and they stand like that for a few moments, two dark silhouettes against the row of white townhouses.

"At least we're out of there," Billie says after a while.

"Yeah," he agrees. "I left my coat though."

"Me too. Shall we just pop back in and collect them?" she asks, tongue poking through teeth.

"I'd rather freeze."

It's her idea to buy liters of Strongbow at Tesco, to walk the quiet royal borough streets together sipping cider and nibbling on a 99-pence pack of custard creams. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, claiming it's for warmth, though the early spring air is surprisingly mild. They sneak into a small, deserted park nestled among the townhouses and he sits on a bench, pulling her into his lap.

She giggles at him and takes a swig of her cider, the brown bag crinkling around the bottle. He marvels at how she looks just as beautiful under streetlights as spotlights; just as beautiful she did on the walk back to her flat that night right before their second-last time. He was tipsy then, too, and full of nerves, unbelieving that he was going to get to sleep with her  _again_.

He had babbled on for several blocks and she just looked at him, gave him this knowing smile, because of course she's aware of the effect she has on him, the effect she has on everyone. She turned the collar of her coat up against the cool Cardiff breeze and slid a hand into the pocket of his trousers, effectively shutting him up for the remainder of their journey.

Sitting on his lap in the park, Billie runs her hand through his hair and he thinks about how right he feels when he's with her. The alcohol in his bloodstream dulls the guilt he had felt earlier, compartmentalizes his feelings for her. Before he realizes it he's telling her he never feels as alive as when they're together.

"You just think that because you only see me when it's exciting," she says, tracing his jawline.

"I'd like to see you when it's boring, too."

"I'll call you for the 3 a.m. nappy change, then."

"Depends on whose nappies we're talking about," he jokes, trying to suppress the twinge he feels at the reference.

She laughs and shifts in his lap and his cock jumps again. He freezes, hoping she hasn't noticed, feeling like the gangly teenager he once was, with no control over his limbs or erection whenever a pretty girl is in sight. He ventures a glance at her and, damn it, judging by the growing smirk on her face she has an inkling as to what's going on in his pants.

"That for me?" she asks, tongue taunting, motioning downward with her eyes.

"No, that's for the other beautiful woman sitting on my lap."

She swivels her hips again, more deliberately, and watches his adam's apple bob. He grips her hip, stilling her movements. Lifting his other hand to her face he grazing her cheek with his thumb, before burring his hand in her hair. You wouldn't notice it if you weren't looking for it, but  _oh_  he is, and her jaw falls slack just a touch. He looks at her, a challenge glinting in his eye. She moves her hips again.

Closing his fist around her locks he draws her head to him, crushing her lips against his own. He thinks he will never lose the excitement of this moment, of the roller coaster finally plunging over the drop after an eon of inching up the incline.

This time is just as thrilling as their first-last time, when he pushed her against the wall just inside the door to his trailer on set, unable to wait until she'd stepped further into the room, unable to wait until she'd changed out of Rose's clothes.

Her mouth is so soft and plush and moist, reminding him of all the other soft, plush, moist spots on her body that he wants to be in contact with. Her lips part, tongue pressing against him, but he doesn't open his mouth to her yet, wants to make her wait. She draws her tongue across his lips and squirms on his lap in frustration, yanking at his hair, and he gives in, meeting her needy tongue with his own. He can never hold out on her for long.

Something about sitting in a public park with his crush on his lap covering a partial erection feels very juvenile and he goes with it. He's groping at her, hands roaming her body to touch every inch of skin he can -- the crook of her knee, her side just under her blouse, her wrist, her elbow, the nape of her neck. He doesn't neglect the fabric-covered bits, either, hands squeezing her thighs, her arse, her breasts.

She breaks the kiss to nip at his neck, but he knows it's because she needs to catch her breath. He loves it when she's off her game, when he achieves the rare upper hand in their battle of affections. It seems like he's always the one who's so easily undone by her, constantly wanting more while she plays her cards close. 

He understands it's a defense mechanism she's built up over the years, that it's nothing to do with him specifically. But he knows she needs this just as much as he does by the way she gasps his name every time he makes her come.

Emboldened by the booze and her hot breath against his neck, he pushes a hand between her legs, stopping when his thumb hits the hem of her skirt. He lingers there, fingers drumming a rhythm against her soft skin, until she brings her mouth to his again and parts her legs slightly.

Another victory for Team Tennant.

Smiling against her lips, his hand ventures forward until his index finger grazes her knickers. The scant fabric there is soaked, the top bits of her thighs too, and he knows this wetness must have been pooling long before they sat down on the bench. Incidentally, his erection can no longer be considered partial.

"That for me?" he says, pulling his mouth away to kiss along her jaw, finger sliding along the slickness of her pants.

"Shut up, Teninch," she breaths and he marks another win in his column at her inability to form a sassy retort.

Before he can think better of it, he pushes her knickers aside and pushes finger in to the third knuckle. Fuck, she's so wet and she's burying her face in his neck, soft sounds coming from the back of her throat. He starts to move his hand, curling his finger as he pulls it out, and her breath catches. He adds a second finger before she grabs his wrist, eyes glossy in front of his face.

"Dave," she says, voice husky. "We're in a park."

"I've never made you come in a park," he says slyly, kissing her earlobe.

"But someone might hear us," she giggles. "You know I'm rubbish at being quiet."

Thoughts drift again to their first-last time, when he had to cover her mouth with his hand as she came, certain any crew members walking by the trailer would have heard her muffled moans.

"Alright, where can we go?" he asks, wiggling his fingers that are still inside her. She pulls on his wrist until his fingers slide out, guiding his hand carefully so as not to get any moisture on her skirt. Raising his hand, she takes his two fingers in her mouth, swirling her tongue around them as she slowly glides his hand free, creating a soft popping sound upon their release.

He's gaping at her and he knows it and there's nothing he can do about it. As if she wasn't irresistible enough just being herself, she's fucking heartbreaking when she turns it on.

She smirks at him, having gained the upper hand once more, and actually pushes his jaw closed before she reaches into her purse, pulling out a rectangular piece of plastic and handing it to him. It takes him a while to collect his thoughts and realize it's a room key to the hotel they had just come from.

"When did you get this, then?" he asks, beaming at her.

"When I found out your name was on the guest list," she replies, ducking her head and smiling up at him from under thick lashes, going from sexy to shy in a matter of seconds

He just looks at her, in awe as always, before pulling her into another lingering kiss. She knew from the moment she laid eyes on him tonight that this is how they'd end up, and that thought warms his mind as her tongue sliding against his warms the rest of him. 

After a few moments they stand, steadying themselves against each other, and Billie can't help but run her hand over him through his trousers. He hisses and grabs her wrist.

"Keep that up and I won't make it to the hotel."

"Keep  _that_  up and they might not let you in the door," she laughs, eying his very obvious protrusion. He takes off his suit jacket and folds it over one arm, holding it across his waist.

"How does that look?"

"Naff, but it should get us past the concierge," she winks. Billie laces her arm through his and they set off in the direction of the hotel once more.

***

Somehow they make it past the doorman, past reception, past the function room, and to the lifts without running into a single industry mogul or big wig. She let his arm go, in case they bump into a photographer, but they're standing with their elbows touching. David gets that feeling again, the giddy anticipation about the things she's going to let him do to her; thing's he's normally restricted to thinking about in the shower or in his study late at night. 

When the lift arrives a group of American students show up and crowd in with them. David and Billie are crammed in the corner of the lift, which seems to be stopping on every sodding floor, and he has the urge to kick everyone off, pull the emergency stop button, and fuck her against the mirrored walls, leaving hand prints on the glass.

He's weighing the merits of this plan when he feels her hand sneak beneath his tactically folded jacket and start caressing his erection over his trousers. He swallows thickly and focuses his eyes on a spot near the ceiling, forcing his brain to think of anything else other than Billie Piper stroking his cock.

They finally arrive on their floor and stumble off the lift. She starts to jog ahead of him but he grabs her arm, pulling her back.

"You're gonna pay for that," he growls against her ear, nipping on the lobe. 

"Looking forward to it," she says, tongue jutting out, and it's all he can do to not tackle her right there in the hallway.

She opens the door to the room and makes a bee-line for the bed, stepping out of her heels with a sigh of relief in the process. She sits and slides herself backward on the mattress, leaning back on her forearms. 

In a matter of seconds he locks the door, drops his suit jacket, starts to loosen his tie, and then he's crawling on top of her on the bed. He pushes her legs apart and sides his hips between them, thrusting against her roughly, despite the layers of clothing in their way.

She makes that soft noise at the back of her throat that he loves and he repeats the movement, again, again, until she wraps her legs around his back, seeking any relief in the form of friction. 

He rolls them both over so he's on his back and yanks her blouse up over her head, tearing the sleeve in the process. Her bra is next and then he's pulling her down to him, taking her nipple in his mouth and rolling it around his tongue.

Billie moans and starts to move her hips against him, grinding in slow circles. He pushes her skirt up over her thighs, hooks his thumbs in the elastic of her pants and pulls down, making it to her knees before he realizes he has to release her breast to move forward with the undressing bit. She kicks her pants the rest of the way off while he starts on the buttons of his shirt.

Skirt still on -- she knows he likes that -- Billie pulls off his shoes and sets to work on his belt and fly before shimmying his trousers and pants down and off. He's still working on his buttons when she takes his cock in her mouth.

He never feels so fucking good as when her mouth is around him, all lips and tongue and just the tease of teeth every now and again. He moans as he finally unfastens the last button and reaches to still her movements as her tongue laps at the pre-cum on his head.

"I told you, you're going to pay for touching me in the lift," he manages to get out between gulps of air.

"I'd like to see you try," she smirks, before taking nearly all of him in her mouth. Finally, she releases him and he pounces, pushing her onto her back and pinning her hands to the mattress next to her head. He stops her giggles by sucking at the sensitive spot below her hear, pulling the skin between his teeth.

He finally discards his shirt and works his way lower, kissing the freckle on her left shoulder, the spot above her belly button, the curves of her hips -- touching everywhere but her breasts. He knows that is her favorite part, that her nipples are more sensitive than most, so he saves it for last, waits until she's writhing beneath him.

When she gasps  _fuck please_  he knows she's had enough and he descends on her left nipple, tongue tracing its ridges before running over the bud. He keeps these licks light while his fingers roll and pinch at its twin, creating contrasting sensations that make her arch up off the mattress. He alternates his attentions, mouth covering her right breast, and she reaches between them to take him in her hand once more.

He always worries he isn't going to last long when he's with her -- the reality of Billie Piper in bed is better than even his most optimistic wet dream -- but for five times now he's managed to eek it out, to hold it together until he made her scream, collapsing on top of her seconds later. But in this moment he decides to make tonight really count, in case their sixth-last time is truly their last time together.

In an instant he's yanking her off the bed, pulling her against him in a heated kiss as he walks her back until she bumps against the ornate dresser. He turns her, places her hands on the glossy wood, pushes her skirt up over her hips, and dips a finger into her from behind. He watches her in the mirror, biting her lip, eyes meeting his in the reflection.

She pushes her hips out, grinding against his painfully hard cock, and the next thing he knows he's gliding into her. He rests his head against her shoulder when he's fully inside, she's so fucking wet and tight and he's been hard for what feels like hours. Swallowing thickly he begins to move, slowly and unevenly, not daring to look at her just yet.

After a minute he's back under control and begins to thrust in earnest, pulling her hips back to meet his with each beat. She's gasping, breathing the occasional word of encouragement. Her neck has dropped, hair falling over her face, and he reaches around to gently lift her chin up so she'll meet his eyes in the mirror once more.

The look on her face is hungry and he can tell she's already close. He brings a hand to her breast, squeezing and pinching her nipple, while bending at the waist so that she rests her weight on her forearms. Billie moans at the new angle -- hitting her favorite spot -- and he speeds up, fingers gripping her hip as he feels her start to tighten.

She rests her forehead on her arms as she comes, moaning toward the floorboards. She clenches around him and he closes his eyes, somehow managing to hang on. He pulls out, pleased with himself, and guides her back toward the mattress, collapsing next to her at the foot of the bed.

"Wh- why do you look like the cat who got the cream?" she asks between pants, eying the stupid grin on his face. He motions downwards with his eyes. Her eyebrows shoot up when she sees and she lets out a breathy laugh. "Well done, you!"

He knows he should let her catch her breath, let her come down from her orgasm, but even her laugh is fucking sexy and he's yanking her crumpled skirt off and rolling on top of her again, one foot on the floor and one knee on the mattress. He grunts as he pushes into her, burying his face in her hair, clutching her shoulders.

She wraps her legs around his waist and soon she's gasping along with him, egging him on with  _fuck yeah_  and  _harder_  and, his favorite,  _fuck Dave_. The way she sounds, gasping expletive-riddled phrases while he pounds into her, never fails to send a shiver down his spine.

He hadn't discover her penchant for dirty talk until the third-last time, when she bounced on top of him in the limo and whispered  _fucking come inside me_  and he did, on command, just like that. That particular moment was his favorite to go back to, in the shower, in the study.

Now, her words only edged him closer to the precipice he'd been teetering on for ages, that he'd been thinking about since she walked toward him with that fucking smirk. 

Knowing he wouldn't last much longer, he slides a hand between them and runs his fingers over her clit, circling and rubbing and then,  _fuck_ , she's moaning louder than the first time. Seconds later he's gasping too, crashing into her as she tightens around him, pumping everything inside her. He continues moving in slow, long strokes until he begins to grow soft.

Collapsing next to her, he pulls Billie against him, kissing her forehead as their breathing evens out. She hums appreciatively into his chest and his hands caress curving lines up and down her back.

"I wish we could stay the night," she says, after a while.

"Me too," he replies, tempting visions of her waking up in his arms invading his mind.

"Maybe we could go away sometime. Morocco or Croatia or something. Just get away." She says it offhandedly, like an afterthought, but he can tell by the way she holds her breath it's much deeper than that.

"I'd love that Bill," he says, wondering if he's ever meant anything so wholeheartedly in his life, and she snuggles closer, lacing a leg through his. A part of him thinks it's worth the guilt, worth the risk, if it means getting to lie tangled with her like this.

Later, as they're dressing, he traces the tear on the sleeve of her blouse.

"Sorry about that."

"Eh, don't worry. I'll say it got caught on someone's cufflink,"  she says, rolling her eyes.

"Well, there  _was_  a bit of a scuffle."

"Mm, yeah, that does ring a bell," she smirks. "I think some wanker started it."

"Yeah, but I heard he got the girl," he smiled, pulling her in for a kiss.

They left the room, David's arm draped over Billie's shoulders, knowing for the first time that this was not the last time.


End file.
